"Did it help?" he asked as she came walking back to him. She was moving slow, limping just a little, but if she was in pain she hadn't mentioned it, and he'd decided not to press her, not about that. Not about anything, not if he could help it. Instead he'd driven her home and helped her get rid of the sitter and he'd poured her a glass of wine while she'd gone to stand in the doorway to her son's bedroom, watching the boy sleep. He handed her the glass, now, and she took it gratefully.

"A little," she said.

That was what he expected. It had always helped him, a little, seeing his own children safe at home, reminding himself that not everyone lived their lives steeped in horror, reminding himself what he was fighting for. His babies, and everyone else's.

Olivia's baby was fast asleep, and had been for a while now, and had no idea of the danger his mother had faced earlier in the day, and probably never would. Probably, Elliot thought, she didn't tell him a damn thing about what went on at work. About how many times she'd had a gun pointed to her head, about all the friends she'd lost, about the cases that still kept her up in the middle of the night, even years later. There were some things, Elliot knew, they just couldn't tell anyone else.

He'd never been inside this apartment before, and he was still a little surprised to find himself standing here, with her, in her little kitchen. It was a nice place, he thought. The windows were wide and the colors she'd chosen to paint the walls were warm and the bookshelves were full of photos, of friends, of Noah, of Liv, smiling, happy. There was a pile of shoes by the front door, a small child's coat hanging next to Olivia's on the rack next to it. The place was homey, and lived in, more comfortable, he thought, than any of the apartments she'd had while they'd worked together. She'd built a life in this place, and he was grateful to be a part of that life now.

"You ever think about leaving?" he asked her, because he'd been turning that question over and over in his own mind from the moment he saw her sitting on the sidewalk, and it was well after midnight, now, and he always got a little maudlin after dark, and red wine just made it worse, and there were dark circles under her eyes like she hadn't slept in days, and he was wondering if maybe she deserved better. There had come a time when he'd asked himself that question - what happens to me if I'm not doing this job any more? - and he'd put in his papers, and he'd found out. He'd taken the time and the space to learn who he was when he didn't have a badge on his hip, and after six years away when the NYPD offered him the liaison job in Rome he had reached for it with both hands, because the truth was he wasn't sure he liked himself as much without the badge as he did with it. Liv, though, she'd never walked away. She'd stayed right there at SVU where he'd left her, and every time she'd been given a chance for something else - and he was certain those chances would have presented themselves to a woman like her - she'd turned it down, and clung on tight.

"No," she said. "Why do people keep asking me that?"

"Who's asking you that?" he fired back, concerned now. What if tonight wasn't a one off? What if she was slipping, and people had started to take notice? What if she was in trouble, and needed someone to pull her out before she lost her way, lost her nerve, lost her life? Would she let him, or would he be forced to watch her burn out from a distance, powerless to stop it.

"Actually, it's been a while since anybody did," she corrected herself. "But there was a time...the guy I was seeing, he wanted me to think about it. My shrink wanted me to think about it."

"You seeing a shrink?" Elliot asked, surprised. He knew she had gone that route a few times in the past, but she'd never stuck with it long, and when he asked her if it helped she'd told him not much. What would make her want to go back? Jesus, he thought, what the hell happened to her? And who was this guy - no doubt the same guy Fin had mentioned to him - who thought he deserved to have a say in what she did with her life? Whoever he was Liv had kicked him to the curb, and Elliot was happier about that than he wanted to admit.

"PTSD," she said, giving him a level look that cut him straight in half. No wonder she'd recognized the signs in him; she'd been through it herself. Something had happened to her; something had happened to Olivia, something that fucked her up so bad she needed to see a shrink about it, something that had left her sleepless, and reckless, left her hands shaking just like his, something that never should have happened because he should have fucking been there.

"A lot happened while you were gone, El," she said heavily, like she'd seen the question in his eyes, like she knew what he was thinking. She always did.

"Anything in particular I should know about?" he asked, very carefully. They were wading into uncertain waters, now. It was late, and her nerves were shot, and he knew he was asking for more than he ought to. She didn't owe him shit, not after the way he'd left her, but he was dying by inches, waiting to find out the truth. Waiting to find out the full scope of his failures.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, actually, there are some things you should know. But I really, really don't want to talk about it right now."

And he was gonna have to settle for that, and he knew it. He didn't want to settle. He didn't want to bite his tongue, didn't want to let her keep secrets from him, didn't want to just let that comment pass unaddressed, but there was a darkness in his own heart he didn't want to drag out into the light, not even with her, and he understood her reticence, and he'd respect it, same as she'd respect his. That was the deal. They'd get what they gave.

"Can I say something that's gonna sound terrible?" she asked him then, eyeing him speculatively over the rim of her wine glass. They were facing off across her narrow kitchen; Liv was leaned back against the fridge, and Elliot was leaning against the counter, a bare three feet separating him from her, and even that distance felt too great, somehow, when all he wanted was to be near her, next to her, part of her.

" 'Course," he said. Whatever she had to say, he wanted to hear it. Whatever she had to say, he wanted her to feel safe enough to voice it, here with him. Whatever she had to say, he could take it.

"I don't really care what happened while you were gone," she said. "I don't really wanna talk about how I got hurt or the friends I lost or how shitty it was having to start over without you. And I don't wanna talk about Rome or wherever the fuck else you were while you weren't here with me. I don't wanna hold hands and sit in a circle and compare trauma. I just...I don't fucking care, El."

"Liv-"

"It's all gonna come out, eventually," she said. "You stick around long enough, you'll learn the things you need to know. And so will I. You remember...you remember that night, when I asked you what the point of it is?"

He nodded; he did remember, of course he did. He was the one who'd brought it up in the first place.

"You told me we can't go back and change things that have already happened."

Did I? He wondered. Maybe he had. Maybe he was smarter than he thought.

"Telling you now won't give us back those years. Telling you how much I wanted you with me then won't give us a chance to do it over. Yeah, I was angry with you. I think I still am, a little. But it's done. And what matters to me right now is not what's done. It's what happens next. So what happens next, Elliot?"

There was a tension growing in his chest; a part of him wanted, wanted desperately, to give her his excuses and his explanations, to tell her everything, every thought, every worry, tell her about every time he'd risen from his bed and gone to stare out into the inky blackness of the night, wondering where she was and wishing she was with him instead. He wanted to know, about how she'd spent her days, and how she'd spent her nights, who'd hurt her, who'd helped her. But knowing about it wouldn't undo it. Knowing about it wouldn't change a damn thing. It might assuage his guilt, a little, but maybe he hadn't earned the right to let that guilt go, yet. Maybe she was right, and maybe what mattered most wasn't what he'd already done, but what he planned to do next.

The thing was, though, he didn't have a fucking plan. From the minute the car blew up with Kathy inside it he had been making things up as he went, and his track record so far wasn't great. Eli was still living with Mo and they'd caught Wheatley but they hadn't hung him yet, and he was finding his feet at work but they were still getting over the shocking discovery that one of their own had been in Wheatley's pocket, and there was so much left for him to untangle. What happens next? He didn't have the first idea. But maybe, he thought, maybe that's what she was trying to tell him. Trying to tell him to think about what he was doing, to decide what he wanted and decide how to get it, and not keep floundering. Maybe she was asking him to step the fuck up. Maybe he should.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know where we go from here, but I do know this. I want to go there with you. I'm not leaving."

She smiled at him, but it was a brittle smile, a sad one. He'd left her before, and maybe it was gonna take more than words for her to trust that he would stick by her this time.

"You need me, and I'll be there," he told her. She'd needed him tonight, and he'd come running, and he always would. She was his, and he would look after her. He'd already lost her once; he wasn't gonna go through that again. Not ever again.

"Don't make a promise you can't keep," she told him softly. "Because I can't do this again. I can't let you in, and watch you leave again. You want me to trust you, you gotta be somebody I can trust."

Jesus, this conversation. It felt like a flaying. The painful stripping of the skin from his back, leaving him raw and exposed, all the tender pieces of him, all the dark secrets that never should have seen the light of day, confronted with the base reality of him, a man flesh and bone and weak, a man who made mistakes and carried his regrets and hurt people, whether he meant to or not. As far as he was concerned Olivia was the only person in the whole goddamn world who could judge him, and she was, now, weighing his faults against his glories and trying to decide what his reward would be, whether he had earned her trust or whether he would never again be worthy of it, and there was nothing he could fucking do, because he was the one who was supposed to protect her and he was the one who had walked away and she was the only one who could decide whether he'd ever get the chance to stand beside her again. And he wanted to scream, wanted to demand it of her, wanted to say it's you and me. It's always been us, and you can't cut me out any more than you can cut out your own heart. Where you go, I go. When you die, I die. We're bound. But he didn't say it, because Liv had never really gone in for fatalistic shit like that, except for when she did, and he had a hard time predicting when she'd be feeling rational and when she'd be feeling superstitious and he didn't want to make the wrong move now.

"I'm here, aren't I?" he said. "I can't lose you, Olivia. I'll be right here, as long as you'll let me."

It was always gonna be down to her, in the end. She was the one who pushed people away, hid herself behind walls too high for mortal man to climb, insisted she didn't need anything from anybody. Whatever he wanted, he'd only be able to have it if she gave it to him.

"Then be here," she said, and as he watched she set her wine glass down, slowly, meaningfully. A gauntlet, tossed down in front of him, daring him to pick up the challenge.

It was late, and there was something heavy in the air that made him feel like maybe being alone with her was a bad idea, because every time he looked at her all he wanted was to hold her, and he wasn't sure he was allowed, and he wasn't sure what would happen to them if he did, and he couldn't risk losing her. Christ, that woman, she was everything to him, and he didn't know where he'd be, if he didn't have her beside him. Probably, he thought, he'd be dead already. It was Liv who'd told him to talk to Bell about Sinatra, Liv who'd told him he wasn't right, Liv who'd tried to help him, Liv who'd given him reason to think maybe there was something worth living for after all. Without her...he'd been without her for ten years, and now he had her back, and he never wanted to wade into that darkness again.

"It's late," she said, very quietly, and the breath caught in his lungs, suddenly frozen, wondering if it was possible that she could mean what he thought she meant. The last thing he wanted was to leave her and if she gave him a chance to stay he'd jump at it, and he wasn't sure that was the right choice but he was sure that he didn't give a single shit. Right or wrong, the only way he was leaving her tonight was if she asked him to.

"Olivia-"

"Don't make me ask."

He took one long last drink from his glass, and then set it down on the counter, same as she had done. If she didn't want to say the words he wasn't gonna make her; he knew what she wanted, because he wanted the same. Slowly, very slowly, he took a single step towards her, and she nodded; nodded, but did not smile. The moment felt too heavy for smiles. Instead she reached for his hand, just as he had done earlier in the night, and led him slowly from the kitchen through her apartment, turning off lights as she went, until at last they reached the welcoming black of her bedroom.

The air was too thick for words, but they didn't really need them, anyway. They kept the lights off; Olivia drifted into her bathroom, and Elliot stood at the end of her bed, stepped out of his shoes, tugged off his jeans and folded them up, made sure his wallet was still tucked safely in his pocket before he set them on the floor next to his shoes and his socks. He grabbed his cell phone, checked the battery - enough to get him through the rest of the night, considering there wasn't that much night left to them - and then tossed it on the bed. He waited, one heartbeat, two, ten, and then the bathroom door was opening, and for a moment he just looked at her, Olivia, with her hair unbound and soft around her shoulders, the makeup washed from her face, backlit by the bathroom lights, beautiful and serene and untouchable as a madonna.

They traded places; he went into the bathroom, and she went to change for bed, and it felt strangely, uncomfortably familiar, going through the motions of domesticity in her space. The bathroom smelled like her perfume, something expensive and unobtrusive and addictive. The cosmetics on the counter by the sink were neatly arranged, and there was a lime green kid's toothbrush sitting next to a sleek electric one. There were soft, plush rugs on the floor, and he smiled when his feet touched them, because however much she tried to hide it Olivia had always appreciated indulging in luxurious things. When she could, when time permitted. Maybe she had less time for that now than ever, now that she was a Captain and she had a little boy to raise. Maybe she deserved a little more indulgence. Maybe he did, too.

He finished his business and turned out the light, and stepped once more into the bedroom. She was already in bed, her body an enticing shape beneath a soft white duvet. She'd claimed one side of the bed for herself, and put his phone on the little table on the other side. Ready and waiting for him. It was hard to tell in the dark if she was watching him, but he felt the weight of her eyes on him as he slowly crossed the room, lifted up the duvet and slid in next to her. The bed was an indulgence, too, he thought, because it was big and soft and comfortable, and he couldn't help but sigh as he stretched out next to her.

Maybe he should say something. They were both lying flat on their backs, a little stiffly, careful not to touch, because whatever the hell this was it felt too big, too important, to risk ruining it with presumption. Maybe she didn't know what she wanted any more than he did; maybe she just wanted to give them a chance to rest, and maybe she liked the thought of doing that together better than the thought of going to bed alone again. Maybe he did, too.

"I'm sorry," she breathed into the darkness, and he turned on his side to look at her, confused and alarmed because that was the last fucking thing he thought he'd ever hear her say when she was lying in bed next to him.

"What the fuck for?" he asked, and she turned her head on the pillow, and shit the sight of her face at such close range made his heart clench in his chest, made his hands tremble with the sudden urge to reach out and touch her. She was beautiful, Jesus, she was beautiful, dark eyes, soft lips, sad and glorious.

"I'm sorry for not being stronger," she said. "I'm sorry for not being better."

As far as he was concerned there was no one stronger, no one better, than Olivia. She was stronger than he was, he was certain of that, because she had walked through hell alone, and she had not stumbled, because she had stepped up and taken on more responsibility than any one woman should have to and she had done her duty well and proudly, and she cared so much, about everyone, about people she hadn't even met, about people who would never think twice about her. She was good and she was righteous and she was the one thing he would always believe in, even when everything else faded away.

"You're the strongest person I've ever met," he told her, very softly.

"And I cracked like a fucking rookie tonight," she said. "And some uni had to drag you out of bed to come clean up my mess."

"All that proves is you've got a heart, Liv. And that heart, that's...that's my favorite thing about you."

That's what I love about you, that's what he'd almost said, but he could remember all too well the look on her face the last time he'd told her that he loved her, and he'd made a promise to himself that the next time he said it he was gonna choose his moment better. Lying next to her in the dark after the night they'd had didn't seem like the right choice, so he swallowed it back. For now.

"Compassion isn't weakness, and I know you know that. You wouldn't have lasted this long in SVU if you didn't."

"Sometimes I think I only stayed this long because I didn't know where else to go," she whispered.

There was something about the darkness, about the quiet around them, about being awake when the rest of the world was sleeping, that made him feel like they were in a confessional, and not her bed. Some words could only be spoken when the sun had disappeared from view, and there was no one else around to witness them. He would take her secrets and he would hold them in his heart, and he would guard them as closely as a priest guards the words of his parishioners. The bond between partners was sacrosanct, and extended far beyond the precinct, all the way to the grave.

"Maybe there was nowhere else for you to go," he said. "Maybe that's because you've always been right where you need to be."

"What about you?" she asked him, very quietly.

"I took a wrong turn," he answered. That was his confession, his darkest secret, the one thing he could never share with anyone else. He shared it with her without hesitation, though, because she was the only person in the world who had a right to hear it. "I thought I was making the right choice and I didn't realize until it was done that I'd fucked up. These last ten years...I was trying to find my way. I was trying to live my life for other people. But no matter how hard I fought it, my feet just kept pointing me right back here to you."

"Elliot-"

"I don't think leaving was the right choice for me. I think it was the right choice for my family and I think it gave them ten good years and I won't take it back but Jesus, Olivia, I...I was only halfway living. Part of me was there, with them, and part of me was frozen, just wishing I could go back. But maybe it was never about me. Maybe I had to go, so Kathy could have a few good years, so Eli could have two parents. So you could spread your wings. If I had to sacrifice ten years of my life to give them to the people I love then it's worth it, to me."

That was the only way he could reconcile it. Losing Olivia, losing his sense of himself, giving up the work that mattered to him and the one thing that had always made him proudest, swallowing his dreams for his future and dedicating himself wholly to his family, he told himself it was worth it, because it had brought happiness to the people who mattered to him. Kathy had been happy, happy to have him home more, and happy to know she wasn't sharing him with someone else, and happy that he was safe, and Christ, she had been happy in Rome. She had smiled more during their years in Italy than she had in the previous twenty, he was sure. And Eli had been happy, and had grown up in a happy home, and his father had been present, and not so out of his mind with fear that he pushed the boy away. And the older kids, they'd been happy, too, seeing him relax, just a little, without the job filling his head with horror stories, and Olivia...Olivia had bloomed, while he was away. She had grown in ways he feared she never could have done while he was still with her. They'd always been too comfortable, too happy together, and neither of them had been willing to spread their wings, because if they'd taken flight back then they'd have had to leave each other behind, and that was a sacrifice neither of them was willing to make, until he felt he had no other choice.

"Some bad things happened to you while I was gone," he said, testing the feel of the words in his mouth, trying to reconcile himself to that truth. "But some good things happened to you, too, didn't they?"

She'd made Captain, she'd adopted Noah, she'd met new friends and grown into herself in the most remarkable way and he was starting to think he loved her more now than he ever had before, because the person she was now was whole.

"Yeah," she said, very quietly. "Yeah, there were some good things. Some things I'd never take back. But don't think you're a fucking martyr," she added, with some heat. "You weren't the only one suffering."

"No, I know that."

Somewhere deep in his heart, somewhere he feared to tread, he worried about that, more than he wanted to admit. Sometimes he worried that he hadn't made Kathy happy at all, that she would have been happier still if he'd just let her go, and she'd made a new life for herself somewhere else. Sometimes he worried she'd still be alive, if he'd never put in his papers. Sometimes he worried that Eli hated him, and would have liked him better if he'd only seen his father every other weekend. And sometimes, sometimes he worried that the parts of Olivia he'd broken when he left were never, ever gonna be mended, and he worried about that because she was beautiful, and strong, and brave, and she was still alone, and he worried that the only reason she didn't have another man in her bed right this second was because she'd never let them stay, because she thought they'd all do what he had done, and leave her.

"But it's not all your fault, either," she said. "Yeah, you left, but some things were gonna happen no matter where you were."

And they'd agreed not to go there, not to try to right the wrongs of the past. They'd agreed to let the past stay where it was, because nothing was going to change it, not now. They'd agreed to move forward, and so he forced himself to let it lie, swallowed back the words he wanted to say, because as much as he believed that she never would have been hurt if he'd only been there to save her he couldn't help but remember all the times he'd let her down, Sealview and all the rest, and no matter how much he wanted to protect her he worried that he'd never be able to do that as well as he wanted to, as well as he should have.

"I'm sorry I left," he told her. And he was sorry, was so fucking sorry, and he would be, for the rest of his life. "But I'm so proud of you, Liv. Jesus, I'm proud of you."

He reached for her then, because he wanted to, because she was beautiful, and precious to him, because he couldn't stand being so close to her and not touching her. His palm settled against her cheek, his thumb brushing idly over the line of her jaw, and she was warm, and soft, and she did not pull away from him, and he'd never touched her like this before but now that he had he didn't think he'd ever be able to stop.

"You've done so well. You've done so much for other people. It's ok to think about yourself, every once in a while."

"I think I've forgotten how," she breathed, and he watched the shape of her mouth moving in the darkness, watched the sorrow settling heavy in her dark eyes. Maybe she had. Maybe she'd spent so long trying to be all things to all people that she'd forgotten to save a piece of her life for herself. What would she want? He wondered. What would she wish for, what would she dream of, that was just hers, and no one else's? It was a question he couldn't answer, not for her, but he knew where she was coming from, because he was the same. All his life, from the moment he first learned that Kathy was pregnant with Mo, he'd been trying like hell to make sure that everybody else had what they needed. That the kids were fed, that Kathy had enough money in the bank to pay the bills, that he brought down the perps and gave justice to the victims. It had taken so much fucking work, and he'd forgotten, somehow, to want things for himself. What would he ask for now? He wondered. What would make him happy, and nevermind everyone else?

The answer was staring him in the face; the answer was her.

Slowly, very slowly he slid his hand away from the curve of her cheek, let his fingers brush her soft hair away from her skin until his palm was flush to the nape of her neck, and he held on, then, did not pull her closer but anchored her to him, the pair of them separated by a bare few inches of space, their bodies mirroring one another in the darkness.

"You've done enough," he said, very softly. "You've worked hard, and you have done so much good for so many people. You aren't weak, and you haven't failed. Let someone else take care of you for a while. Let...let me, Olivia. Just let me."

That was what he wanted. He wanted to hold her, he wanted to protect her, he wanted to have her, all of her, for himself as much as for her, because he didn't like the man he'd become without her, but he was proud of the man he was when he stood beside her, and that was who he wanted to be. He didn't want to be the man who left her; he wanted to be the one who stayed. And he wanted her to let him, because he wanted to believe he was worthy of her trust. He wanted to believe she'd choose him, same as he'd chosen her. He wanted to believe they deserved that much.

"So do it, then," she breathed. It was all the invitation he was ever gonna get; she was looking up at him, and her eyes were hopeful and scared both, and he knew what it had cost her, just to ask, and he knew what she was risking, letting him see how much she wanted it. A woman like her, a woman of power, and authority, a woman who had to be strong, every second of the day, a woman people looked to for guidance, for salvation, she could not, would not admit her own vulnerabilities easily, would not let the fragile pieces of her heart see the light of day lest they be used against her, but she showed them to him now, and he promised himself in that moment that he was gonna spend the rest of his life proving to her that she'd made the right choice.

He did not hesitate; he leaned in towards her, and he felt her lift her chin to meet him, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes against the blinding radiance of her was the way her soft lips parted, begging, almost, for him to give her what she needed. His lips found hers in the darkness, and a jolt of electricity shot through him, made his whole body shake, because Jesus this was Olivia, and he should have been scared, should have been absolutely terrified that crossing this line with her would spell the end of everything between them. He should have been worried about how they were gonna do this, about how they were gonna take decades of friendship and turn it into something else, and he should have been scared out of his mind that this was a mistake but he wasn't, he wasn't, because when he kissed her he felt as if he had, after so many years of wandering, finally made his way home.

And maybe she felt that way, too, because she didn't hold herself back from him; she reached for him instead, her hand curving around the back of his neck, and her soft lips parted under his and her body arched towards him and he felt her take him over, felt her flowing like water into all the shattered cracks of him until he was whole. Carefully, half terrified and half overjoyed, he let his tongue slip between her lips and she drew in a sharp breath through her nose but did not back away; instead she settled a little more firmly on her back and drew her over him and let him cover her, shelter her beneath the weight of him while he drank his fill of her, and his heart sang in his chest.

But no kiss, even one as sweet and earth shattering as that one, could last forever, and he let it end, let her pull away from him when she was ready and stayed right where he was, looking down at her, and Jesus, he'd never seen anything more beautiful than her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, wanted to thank her for letting him stay, wanted to tell her he was never, ever gonna leave her again, but the words wouldn't come. They didn't need to, anyway. She knew it all already.

She raised herself up, and pressed her lips to his one last time, a promise, he thought, a promise for later, a promise that what had begun this night would not end when the sun rose but would instead stretch out before them, a hope that when the new day dawned it would be better, brighter than the last. As it was they were too tired, too wrung out, too close to the edge, and maybe she knew that he'd give her all of himself right now if she asked, and maybe she wasn't ready to ask but maybe one day she would be, and he'd hold out, hold on, waiting for that day, because she was it, for him. She was all he'd need, all he'd want, for the rest of his life, and he'd waited for her so long now that a few more days, weeks, months even wouldn't make that much of a difference. When she was ready, he would be, too.

Right now, though, she just shifted in his arms, and he let her. Let her settle on her side, and wrapped himself around her, his arm draped heavily over the perfect curve of her waist, his nose buried in the softness of her hair. Every piece of her fit against every piece of him in a way that calmed him, healed him. He let his hand drift under the pajama top she wore, let his palm settle against the soft, warm skin of her belly, and she hummed, and relaxed against him, like that was what she wanted, too. That connection, that reminder that they were both still breathing, still alive and with one another.

"Sleep, Olivia," he whispered. "I'll look after you."

And he would, for all the rest of his days.